


With Careworn Hands

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Embarrassingly Fluffy, F/M, Seriously I'm breaking out in hives over here, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need someone to be <i>kind.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	With Careworn Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Person A of your OTP is a very caring person and always helps everyone. One day, there is a party and person A gets very drunk. Turns out that they get very emotional and cry about how they always take care of everyone but no one cares about their problems. So person B, who is still sober, gives them a big hug, comforts them and says “I’m sorry I didn’t know about this. I’ll take care of you from now on.” Person B drives person A home, carries them to bed and gives them a kiss on the forehead. The next day, person A wakes up and remembers everything. What happens next is up to you.

Cassandra cannot really recall why they were having a party, but she supposes few will remember in the morning. Still, everyone is happy - everyone apart from one, a single person she cannot find. It bothers her, that in this moment of joy he has somehow slipped away. She steps outside, and her search does not take long.

Varric is sat on the battlements, his head hanging low.

“Varric?”

“Go enjoy th’party,” he slurs.

“You are not… you are not enjoying it. Are you alright?”

That seems to be exactly the wrong thing to ask him. He stills for a moment, and then he visibly deflates, face scrunched up as he lets out a strangely weak noise.

“Varric?” She crouches next to him, one hand on his back. “What -”

“Do you know,” he says quietly, “how often I’ve been asked that?”

“I - what?”

“I counted. I always count. It’s important to remember kindness.”

She smiles gently. “It is why I remember you often. You are always kind.”

He offers a wan smile, lopsided and fleeting. “I try. I have to. World’s cruel, and people need kindness. But I know that, I know how cruel it is. And I - sometimes I need kindness too.” He swallows. “I need someone to be kind.”

“Oh. Oh, _Varric_ -”

“M’sorry. S’just the drink. Go, you should - you should be with them. Happy people.” He leans against her for a moment, before pulling away. “Go.”

She takes his hand in hers, gentle as she lifts it to her face. “You are so kind,” she murmurs, “and ask for so little in return. I will not allow this to pass, not anymore. You have my word.”

His fingers curl around her cheek, and his smile lingers. “Don’t,” he says softly. “Don’t say that, s’just words. It’s alright. I’m just… tired. Just tired. Go and enjoy the night.”

“Varric -”

“Go, C’ssandra.”

She swallows at the use of her name, her real name, and something in her heart breaks. That he would still think only of others enjoyment was too much to bear. Shifting, she hoists him up into her arms, his head wobbling against her shoulder.

“Allow me this kindness, at least. Let me put you to bed, in the warm.”

He makes another weak noise, but her feet are already moving, slow steps as she carries him to the main keep. The path is quiet, there is nobody to judge him - not that she would allow such a thing, of course.

She knows the way to his chambers, though she has never been inside. Still, it is more sparse than she might have imagined - messy, of course, but a small room with little comfort. She would have imagined a desk, in truth, but there is barely room for the bed and the few possessions he has.

She stoops to let him sit on the bed, kneeling before him and helping him with his boots. “Your room is too small,” she murmurs.

“Mm. Didn’t need much. Someone else did.”

“You gave away your room?” She smiles slightly, tugging his feet free. “That is the least surprising thing you have said today.”

He falls back against the pillows, eyes already closed. “Mm,” he agrees softly.

“Varric, take off your coat.”

“Mm.”

“Varric -”

But he does not respond, and Cassandra sighs as she rocks back on the balls of her feet, watching him.

Cassandra soon realises, as she watches Varric’s chest move up and down in even slow breaths, that she wants to make Varric happy. Always.

It is quite the shift in thinking.

Except it is not, she muses, reaching over and brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. She had been reluctant to consider her feelings, in the face of everything else, but she could not deny what her heart had known for some time. He made her feel content just by smiling, could make her heart skip with a word, a sound.

She wonders if he knows.

Still, such idle thoughts would not help, not tonight. She sits back and considers him, considers his words. Kindness came in many forms, and she can think of several that would suit. But perhaps it is only right that she gives him some comforts that would not be out of place in his room above the tavern back in Kirkwall - after all, it was her fault he had left.

Mind made up, she leaves him to sleep off his excesses.

*

She considers the impending morning as she heads back towards the inn. He would be ill-suited to getting up early, no doubt aching from the alcohol, and though the work would need doing he would need time to adjust to the waking world before making his way to the halls. Perhaps she could assist in that.

Comfort. Relief. Sustenance. She ticks them off on her fingers, each one in need of clarification. She decides to tackles relief first - that was easy. Everyone required the same thing, after all.

Dorian had made quite the name for himself with the guards, brewing up a simple tonic that alleviated even the worst hangovers. The Pavus Elixir, Varric had called it. Whatever it was, it was good - Cassandra had been force-fed a bottle of it after a particularly nasty concussion, and was allowed back to her duties within the hour. This was what Varric would need in the morning.

She finds him outside the inn, sat on a barrell and looking up at the stars as he leans heavily on his staff.

“Dorian?”

For a moment he does not respond, and Cassandra has the frightening fear that he too has fallen into melancholy - perhaps they all had, perhaps she would have to gently appreciate each of them in turn before the dawn - but he smiles at her broadly as she approaches.

“Cassandra! Lovely night for a party.”

“It seems to be that way.”

He frowns. “You want something.”

“I - I do. How did you -”

“Oh, Bull says you do that thing with your shoulders when you’re getting ready to ask something. Ever since he pointed it out, I can’t unsee it.”

She smiles slightly. “You two must be close, if he is revealing his espionage secrets.”

He grins, and it is strange to see such a free expression on his face. It makes him look so much younger. She rather likes it. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Good.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He sighs happily, before shuffling to face her. “So, what do you require of me, Cassandra?”

“I was hoping you might have some of your… elixir.”

He grins. “Planning ahead, are we?”

“After a fashion,” she says carefully. He catches the hesitation, and his smile widens.

“Oho. For whom?”

“I would rather not -”

“Tell me or I throw it away.”

“- Varric. It is for Varric.” Her hands clasp awkwardly. “I would not ask, but he has… rather overdone it.”

Dorian leans forward, his balance precarious on his staff. “He usually does. But why do you care?”

She swallows. “Because someone should,” she says simply.

“That,” he says quietly, “is the correct answer.” Fumbling for a moment with his robe, he produces a small vial of the clear liquid. “Here. With my blessing. Look after him, Cassandra, and I want full details tomorrow evening - if you’re free of his clutches,” he adds with a smirk.

She can feel her cheeks burn - did everyone know her heart so easily? - but she smiles as she relieves him of the bottle. “Thank you. I will not forget this.”

“Oh, I know. And neither, my dear, shall I.”

*

Sustenance was harder. She knew what Varric ate, but it was hardly good fare - he had few luxuries, and the more she considered it the less confident she felt at the idea of feeding him some Kirkwall delicacy. It was a city built on blood and pain, and the food was not much better. No, she would look elsewhere for something to eat.

She finds Josephine with Sera, settling an argument about the greatest pranks.

“Lady Ambassador?”

“Cassandra!” She beams, wobbling slightly. “I am glad to see you are still here. We thought you might retire early.”

“Ah, no. I was… I was hoping to get your advice on something.”

Sera cocks her head. “The high and mighty Seeker wants advice? World must be ending.”

“If I were to prepare a… a good breakfast, what would you suggest?”

Josephine frowns slightly. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“What would you have, in the morning, if you could have anything?”

“Oh!” She laughs. “Well, that is easy - what I have every morning. Waffles with fruit, and a little sugar syrup. I have a special pan for them - you put it into the fire -”

“Breakfast. You want her to make you breakfast.” Sera rolls her eyes.

Cassandra sighs. “Sera, _please_.”

There must be something in her tone that makes the woman stop and squint, hands on hips. “Why?”

“It is important.”

“Is it for the Inquisitor?”

“I - no.”

“Then it can’t be important. You’re the one that said that. All for the cause, right?”

She closes her eyes, mentally kicking herself for her rash words. That explained much of Sera’s attitude with her. “You are right,” she says finally. “I was… foolish, for assuming that we could maintain such an ideal.”

Sera leans against the doorframe. “You were stupid.”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me you were stupid. _You_.”

“Yes.”

Sera grins. “You really want that breakfast.”

“I do.” She swallows. “For… for Varric. He never asks for anything, and I -”

“Oh. OH!” Sera cackles. “Oh, I gotcha. Got some blueberries, if you want ‘em. To go with her fancy pastry thing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! He found me six new insults for the Orlesians last week, I owe ‘im anyway.”

Josephine beams. “How wonderfully kind of you both!” She claps her hands together. “And of course, you must use the Montilyet pan. No other will do. Let me find it - oh!” She wobbles to her feet, and Sera grins.

“Lemme help -”

“And allow you access to my rooms that you may plant another devious prank? No thank you!”

*

Comfort is easy to find, but hard to bargain for. She does not lie, but Varric’s name stays out of the agreement and she finds herself with a thick silk throw for her troubles - though she dreads to think what she will owe Vivienne in return. With her treasures in hand, she returns to Varric’s room, slipping in quietly. He sleeps well, mercifully, and she takes the seat by the fireplace, considering the threads of her plan.

She supposes she must have fallen asleep, because when she opens her eyes the sun is warm on her skin through the small window and Varric is groaning in confusion.

Or pain, she realises, and rises to offer him the remedy.

“Here. Drink this.”

“Nngh - wha -”

“It is Dorian’s potion. Drink.”

His fingers are slow to hold the mug, but he drinks deep. “M’hot,” he huffs gruffly.

“You slept in your clothes,” she points out, putting down the mug and carefully tugging his coat off his shoulders. “Here. This will be better.”

He feebly kicks off the sheet, rolling away. “Hot,” he grumbles, pulling at his shirt. “Stupid -”

“Maker give me strength,” she mutters, yanking the sheet free before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling that away. He hums, eyes closing, and she cannot help but smile as he falls back into the arms of sleep. He would doubtless not sleep long, but it gave her time to prepare breakfast.

How terribly domestic, she thinks, and pushes that thought away.

*

As the waffle pan warms, she hears him stir again - the slightest shiver, and a frown of discomfort. Taking care not to drag the silk throw on the floor, Cassandra drapes it over him, tucking it underneath him as he sighs deeply. And still he sleeps, so she reaches for one of his books, finding familiar passages to read as the pastries cook.

In time, he stirs again - more urgently now, as wakefulness comes to him, and he rolls over, fingers tightening over the fabric, and he utters a noise of confusion.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Uhm,” he manages. And then - “Seeker?”

“Yes?”

“Is this silk?”

“I believe so. Would you like something to eat?”

“I - uh. Yes?”

“The Lady Ambassador says these Antivan waffles are exquisite with blueberries. And you should be able to appreciate them thanks to Dorian’s potion.” She turns to the fire, rescuing the pan with quick fingers and fishing out the pastries onto a small dish, before topping them with the small fruits Sera had gifted her with. She offers him the plate with a smile.

Varric stares at her, and she can feel her resolve slipping.

“I - I thought - I suppose I did not even ask, but do you _like_ blue -”

“You did all this?”

“I - yes.”

“Why?”

“You… you said you needed kindness,” she says, looking away, “and I have been unkind more than most, and I do not wish that to be -”

“Seeker.” He pats the bed, before taking the dish from her. “Come and sit with me.”

She does, because she does not know what else to do, and as she folds her legs underneath her he smiles.

“You did all this,” he repeats, less of a question now, and she nods. “For _me_.” She nods again. “Where did you even -”

“I do not really wish to say,” she admits in a rush. “I… had quite an adventure, and no doubt will pay dearly for it this morning with whispered words and knowing looks.”

He laughs at that, a soft noise that warms her. “You’re ridiculous. I was _drunk_.”

“You were _honest_.”

“They’re not always the same.”

“They were last night.” She looks down at her hands, twisted knots. “You… you are one good deed after another, Varric. You take care of everyone, to the point of punishing yourself. And we have not been good enough in kind, and I am sorry that I did not see it before.”

He reaches out, stilling her hands with his own. “Hey.”

“The waffles are getting cold.”

“Seeker.”

“Josephine said -”

“ _Cassandra._ ”

“- best enjoyed warm -”

He reaches up to cup her neck, pulling her down into a soft kiss, her words dulled to a quiet noise as her hands finally slow to a stop. Her fingers uncurl, before winding with his, his touch warming.

He pulls away, licking his lips as he stares up at her. “Wow.”

She swallows. “Hi.”

“I, uh… I probably should have asked before, but is… is that okay?”

She nods. “I - yes. And that is not me being kind,” she says quietly.

He laughs. “Okay. Good. I wouldn’t want you to think you _had_ to -”

“Oh! No, I _liked_ it -”

“Me too.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, for all of this,” he murmurs, and she can feel the blooming blush across her cheeks as she smiles.

“You - you are welcome.”

He smiles then, soft and warm and something that she suddenly feels very lucky to have caused. “You’re ridiculous, Seeker,” he repeats, “to have gone to all this trouble for just me… but I'm very thankful that you did.”

“Oh, Varric,” she sighs, smiling at his slight frown. “That is the part that makes me the sorriest. You were never ‘just you.’ _Never_.”

“Cassandra -”

She laughs. “Forgive me. Perhaps I am just tired from the night’s events.”

He smiles, lifting up the throw. “Come here. You need rest and food, just like us mere mortals. And if this is half as good as Ruffles says, I want to share it with you.”

Hesitating for only a moment, she tugs her boots off and shuffles under the throw, curling into the crook of his body. He smiles down at her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs, “but I wouldn’t change a thing.”


End file.
